Into Temptation
by the diggler
Summary: [1/3] In a small provincial chapel in the 18th century, a young lord obsessed with the writings of Marquis de Sade comes to Father Castiel for help. (Castiel x Dean, AU S&M PWP)


**A/N**: It's officially Halloween on my side of the world folks! Usually at this time of the year I add to my Halloween in Bondage verse, but I really needed a break from that this year. So you get this S&M instead! Just another old idea I've been lugging around for years, but never had a chance to get to until now. Happy Halloween!

**Warnings**: Sadomasochism, flogging, improvised sex toys, comeplay, eventual bottom!Dean, inaccurate representations of 18th century lifestyle and religious practices. Plot? What Plot? It's paper-thin and borderline blashphemous.

Also, I'm using the term 'Sadist' loosely here, as a generalism for anyone involved in that lifestyle. This is under the assumption that since the Marquis de Sade only _just_ published his works, the differences between 'sadism' and 'masochism' are not yet clearly defined or commonly known at this time :)

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><p>"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."<p>

Castiel blinks in surprise at the voice that comes through the woven screen of his Confessional. There are few houses of wealth in the surrounding provinces, and of those, most that visit their small chapel are women. But this is a voice Castiel hasn't heard before – deep, and rough around the edges, as many in the country are – but still too cultured to be anything other than aristocracy. Castiel tries not to reveal his surprise as he recites his blessing.

"Tell me of your sins," he prompts.

There is a long moment of silence from the other side of the screen, fraught with hesitation, before the man finally speaks.

"Father… Have you heard of the Marquis de Sade?"

Castiel blanches. "I have," he replies, trying to keep his voice even. Of course he's heard of the infamous Marquis. He'd heard of a great many dark and disturbing things when he was living in the capital. And because of the libertine lifestyle much of the aristocracy indulged in, most of the things he'd heard were of a sexual nature. De Sade's writings had become a frequent topic since their recent publication. But Castiel hadn't expected to hear such things out here in the country.

"Father," the man speaks again, more quietly this time, "I'm afraid I might be one of those… _Sadists_… as they are being called now. Please, I need your help."

Castiel heaves a quiet sigh. He hadn't expected this, but it's not as if he can turn this man away. It is his station to listen. To provide absolution. "Have no fear," he replies soothingly. "Tell me, what makes you think this?"

"When I learned of de Sade and his writings recently in my travels, it reminded me of certain… _incidents_ in my youth. For example, when I was a boy, I greatly enjoyed being spanked by my nursemaid. In fact, I often went out of my way to misbehave so I would be punished."

"Is that all?" Castiel asks. It simply sounds as if the man enjoyed stirring mischief as a boy. It's certainly far from definitive evidence of Sadism.

"No, there's more," the man replies quietly.

"Go on."

"When I was older, I had a tutor named Alastair. He knew a great variety of ways to punish my misbehaviour. But once, when he bent me over his desk and whipped me with a ruler… I became aroused."

"I see," Castiel replies. _That_ is a little more worrying.

"And now, ever since I've learned of de Sade…. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about being whipped, and whether it would arouse me. The very thought of it does. Tell me, Father, am I damned? Am I just filth in a man's body?"

"We are all filth in the eyes of the Lord, my son. Only through prayer and repentance can we hope to be absolved of our sins," Castiel intones. "Recite the Our Fathe-" A loud bang resounds on the wood of the confessional, startling Castiel.

"I need more than your absolution, Father! I need your _help,_" the man hisses in desperation.

Startled, Castiel crosses himself out of habit. "Very well," he says once he has caught his breath. "There are some methods I know of that may help cure you of this affliction."

At his old church in the capital, it was usually one of the more senior priests who administered such therapies, but now, out here, unfortunately the responsibility lies with Castiel. He doubts if any of the other priests here in their small provincial chapel have even heard of such things.

"Given the right conditions, the punishment of the flesh can be a powerful tool of cleansing and communion. In fact, I myself have experienced great joy and closeness to God through the Discipline. But it is the joy of penance. Perhaps, through proper exposure, we can purge the body of its inappropriate sexual desires and make way for true contrition and penitence," Castiel explains.

"Exposure?" the man echoes, voice breathy with eagerness. "I see."

"It will be difficult. For us both. And there is no instant guarantee of success," Castiel warns him. He remembers some men and women returning over and over again for private sessions with the priests in the capital, and how much strain it was for the priests as well as the supplicants – how dishevelled and exhausted they were afterwards.

"Yes, of course, Father. I understand," the man replies. "But I am willing to try."

"Then I will expect your return after supper," Castiel instructs. "I will wait for you in the antechamber."

"Yes, Thank you, Father," the man replies enthusiastically.

"Eat sparingly before you return. And until then, spend the day in prayer. Recite the Our Father. Prepare yourself in mind and spirit so as to better purge the body of its desires."

"Yes, Father."

"In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," Castiel recites his final blessing.

"Thank you, Father. I will see you tonight," the man says, exiting the confessional.

x

Castiel sits in the antechamber behind the main chapel, sipping slowly from a cup of wine as he waits. The other priests have returned to their cottages for the night, so the chapel is empty, silent, save for the low crackling of the fire, keeping the cold country drafts at bay. Castiel picks up the flogger resting across his lap – the Discipline_, _as it is called – its handle a comfortable and familiar weight in his palm. He does not understand the kind of deviance that derives sexual arousal from such a tool. In fact, it is this very tool he uses to _punish_ himself when he experiences inappropriate thoughts or bodily reactions. It is through self-flagellation that Castiel purifies himself those desires.

Back in the capital, it was problematic at times. The confessions he'd heard, the things he'd read… sometimes he had to go to such extremes of purification, it took many days to recover. It was part of the reason why he'd been sent to the countryside, in the hopes that a less stressful environment might improve his health. And it has worked so far. He feels well-rested and mentally prepared to help with this particular sort of problem, although he's never personally administered this kind of treatment to another before.

"Father Castiel?" A knock sounds against the door. "Are you there? It is Dean Winchester, returned at your bidding."

"Lord Winchester," Castiel echoes in surprise.

But of course.

Of the few high-born families residing in the area, Samuel Winchester is probably the only lord that attends service and takes confessional regularly, and the young man often speaks of his older brother Dean. Through Sam, Castiel knows that Dean travels often for the family business, and recently Sam has spoken of his excitement over Dean's return.

"One moment," Castiel answers, leaving the Discipline on the chair as he stands to open the door. He doesn't know what kind of man he expects to meet on the other side. Something of a brute maybe, from the stories he'd heard from Sam – plain and oafish, for all their good breeding.

He doesn't expect to open the door to the most breathtaking young man he's ever seen.

As many in the country are, Dean is dressed simply, without the frills and powdered wigs typical of his high-class counterparts in the city. His dark blond hair is simply tied at the nape of his neck, the long strands curling naturally at the ends. There's no sign of powder or rouge on his face either, and his skin glows with the warmth of many days spent in the sun, riding on horseback. And yet, his features are more delicate than many a noblewoman Castiel has seen – lips full and pink, eyelashes naturally curled to perfection, skin soft and smooth with lingering youth – even the freckles smattered across his nose are a testament to the beauty of youth, whereas most others would try to hide such blemishes under layers of powder.

Castiel is grateful Dean's travels are mostly overseas, far from the city. He shudders to think of what the men there would do with such a one as this.

"Please, come in," Castiel says, stepping back to allow Dean entrance to the room.

"Thank you for seeing me, Father," he says, his gaze weighted with the kind of sincerity that conveys true gratitude.

"Of course," Castiel nods. "I hope you have managed to pass the day as I've advised?"

"I did my best, Father," Dean nods. "Though I must admit, it was a bit difficult escaping my brother."

"Ah yes," Castiel chuckles. "Young Sam is quite fond of you. He speaks very highly of you."

"He speaks with you about me?" Dean asks in surprise.

"Frequently," Castiel replies, smiling.

"Oh," Dean replies, somewhat breathily, his cheeks reddening prettily in response.

Castiel clears his throat in the silence that follows, forcing himself to look away.

"Can I offer you a drink?" he asks, indicating the small cupboard nearby. "Some wine perhaps?"

"Yes, thank you," Dean replies. "I did not have any with dinner, as I wasn't sure what you wished of me."

Castiel smiles at the report, impressed by Dean's forethought and dedication. "One drink to calm the nerves will not hurt," he replies, pouring Dean a cup from the bottle on the shelf. It is not a bad vintage. Probably not as rich as the wine Dean is accustomed to. But certainly better than the ceremonial wines used for mass.

Dean accepts it gratefully, and Castiel gives him a moment to collect himself before they start. But as he watches Dean drink, Castiel forgets to drink from his own cup as well, distracted by the sight of Dean's adam's apple, bobbing along the stretch of his throat as he swallows. Dean manages to drain his entire cup, uninterrupted, before speaking again, calling Castiel back to attention.

"Well, Father," he says, forest-green eyes looking up through his lashes, "How shall we begin?"

Castiel shakes himself out of his trance, taking their cups and leaving them on the shelf before turning to the back of the room. Along the wall there is the small altar Castiel and the other priests use to prepare their vessels and vestments for mass, though at the moment most of its surface has been cleared.

"Please remove your coat and vest, and then come here. You can leave your things on the chair beside you," Castiel instructs, clearing away the last items on the altar and placing them in the closet nearby.

Dean nods, resting his hat on the seat and commencing to remove his outer layers, draping them over the back of the chair. Castiel tries not to watch as he folds away the altar cloth, but he can't help but notice the tremble in Dean's hands as he disrobes.

"Should I remove my shirt as well?" Dean asks, fingers hovering over the strings at his neck.

"That won't be necessary," Castiel replies, returning to the chair to pick up the Discipline. "You will feel this through your clothing."

Dean swallows at the sight of the flogger, eyeing the long cords of knotted leather that hang from the wooden handle.

"Please face the altar. You may use it to brace yourself," Castiel instructs.

Dean swallows again, before nodding and doing what Castiel has commanded, leaning over to grip the stone edge of the altar.

"Now, clear your mind of all thought, and open yourself up to penitence. Use the punishment of your flesh to help you focus. But you will see that here, in a house of God, you will not find any sort of… _sexual_ distraction."

"Yes Father," Dean replies, breathy with nervousness.

"Are you ready?" Castiel asks, letting the flogger swing through the air.

Dean nods, unable to even speak anymore, clenching his eyes shut as he tenses for the first blow.

Castiel swings.

The first strike is an easy one. When it lands across Dean's back, he doesn't even cry out. He only gasps a little bit, his eyes still firmly shut tight.

But the second strike has momentum behind it now, and when it hits, Dean shouts, eyes flying wide at the impact.

Castiel strikes again, and again, each blow drawing cries from Dean's lips. But Dean stands them, knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the altar for support.

Castiel is impressed. Dean's taking to it very well. If Dean hadn't told him otherwise, Castiel might not have even suspected this is Dean's first time. He begins to think that perhaps it will only take this one session to cure Dean of his affliction after all.

Perhaps it is Castiel's overconfidence that does it then. That causes his vigilance to falter. And perhaps what results is its own punishment for his pride. But that is when one of Castiel's strikes goes awry. Instead of striking Dean across his back, his aim errs, and the blow lands lower, across Dean's buttocks.

And perhaps it is Castiel's mistake, but perhaps, with someone else, it wouldn't have mattered. But when Castiel strikes Dean's rear, the sound Dean makes then is… more than just a cry of pain. It's also a whimper, a moan, and his entire body seems to shudder differently than before. The reaction makes something inside Castiel tremble as well, giving pause, and he finds himself breathless at it.

That is when Castiel realizes the state Dean is in – pupils blown dark, and the front of his breeches… _full_ with arousal. Dean turns his glazed eyes on Castiel then, gasping to catch his breath and licking his dry, _full_ lips… Castiel growls, striking him squarely on the back.

"Recite the Our Father," he commands.

"Our Father, Who art in Heaven," Dean begins, and Castiel continues to strike him, harder than before, and making sure not to miss anymore. "Hallowed be thy – _ah_ – name – _ah!_" Dean recites, the words broken by his cries of pain.

But instead of Dean's cries becoming louder, as Castiel expected they would, they begin to lessen, until they are nothing more than breathy gasps in between the words of the familiar prayer.

"Lead us not – _unh_ – into temptation – _oh!_"

Castiel would like to hope that it's because the prayer has given Dean focus, that he has begun to transcend the punishment of his body – as Castiel sometimes experiences when he takes the Discipline to his own flesh. But as the prayer comes to an end, Castiel sees it is just the opposite. Dean is even more aroused than before.

"_Ahhh_… _Amen_."

"Again," Castiel orders.

"Our Father – _Ah!_" Dean begins again, gasps turning to cries once more as Castiel whips him even _harder_. Hard enough to slice through the thin fabric of Dean's shirt. But now, to Castiel's dismay, Dean's cries are thick with ecstasy, and not the kind that comes from the joy of holy communion.

"Again!" Castiel barks, striking hard enough to draw blood.

Dean throws his head back at the impact, releasing a filthy cry into the air. "Our Father – _Unh!_ – Who art in Heaven – _Ohhhh_," he begins once more, and this time Castiel recites the prayer with him, hoping to lend his strength to the words – though he finds his voice strangely thick and more rough than usual.

Alas, it is to no avail, as Dean's cries reach a fevered pitch. And they barely get three lines into the prayer before it is all over.

"Thy kingdom _COME!_" Dean screams, and his entire body seizes, spasming with unintended completion.

Castiel is stunned, unable to do anything else but watch as Dean's climax takes over him, suddenly and so thoroughly. And afterwards, when Dean collapses to the ground, Castiel is still frozen, transfixed by the sight of him – cheeks flushed, lips bitten dark, chest heaving… a wet splotch darkening his pants where he has spent himself… When Dean licks his lips then, Castiel's eyes are helplessly drawn to the movement, and he realizes, with horror, where Dean is looking now.

Castiel is aroused.

So aroused, it's showing through his cassock.

He drops the flogger in shock, staring down at himself in dismay. Suddenly, the throbbing between his legs is impossible to ignore, overwhelming and near paralysing.

There is only one thing for it.

His hands are already pulling off his robes before he even makes the conscious decision to.

He must take the Discipline to himself. Immediately. It is the only thing he knows to do when such a bodily reaction… _arises_.

Except… except… when Castiel has divested himself of his robes, he does not take the handle of the flogger again. His hands _keep_ pulling at his clothes, moving of their own accord, unbuttoning his pants to let his desire free. And before he can stop himself he is closing his fist around it, and a deep groan fills the air, which Castiel barely recognizes as his own.

Castiel staggers against the altar as his hand begins to move, pumping his length in a tight grip. The sensation is overwhelming. It's so _good_. But it's so _wrong_. He is a man of the cloth. He should not succumb to such the sins of the flesh. He should be above this. He should be setting an _example_. Dean is _watching him_, for pity's sake.

And yet, though Castiel knows all this, he can't bring himself to stop. Can't even bring himself to move away or pick the Discipline up off the floor, as he so desperately should. He finds himself clutching at the rosary around his neck, as if it might give him strength. He clutches it so tight, he feels the beads _bruising_ his palms.

Suddenly, Castiel struck with a frantic idea. Pulling the rosary off his neck, he wraps it around his member, and though he can't stop pumping himself, the beads of the rosary now make it increasingly difficult, every stroke edged with pain.

Yet, the pleasure persists. It _increases_. And even amidst his consternation, Castiel's hand stubbornly manages to find a rhythm, enslaved by the sensation. Soon he is dripping his arousal, and it catches on his fingers, wetting the beads and smoothing their glide over his skin. He gasps and groans, throwing his head back and letting the sounds escape past his lips into the air, utterly helpless to stop them.

Then suddenly, he feels another sensation. The grip of another hand, clenching around his thigh.

Castiel's eyes fly wide, startled at the touch. And when he looks down, he sees Dean kneeling before him, head tilted up towards him and lips parted to catch the drops of Castiel's desire in his mouth – as if receiving the Eucharist during mass.

The parody of it is near blasphemous. And still, Castiel is helpless to stop it. He is entranced by the fallacy of devotion on Dean's face, the way Dean seems to _radiate_ with it in the candlelight, illuminating every dark curl of his lashes and glistening against the wet drops on his lips. And when Dean licks them then, pink tongue swiping across the drops of Castiel's arousal to take them in his mouth, Castiel can stand no more. The sight undoes him, pushing him over the edge into oblivion, his entire body racked with the tremors of his climax.

When Castiel opens his eyes again, he sees Dean still kneeling in front him, face striped with Castiel's completion, and still greedy for more, tongue reaching for the white ropes of it dripping down the end of Castiel's rosary.

Castiel's knees finally give out, and he collapses back against the altar, sliding down until he lands on the floor, cock still hanging out of his pants, rosary defiled. He cannot even make a move to cover himself as he gasps to catch his breath, staring numbly at Dean in utter disbelief.

With a sigh, Dean crumples, sitting back on his haunches and looking helplessly at his hands.

"It is confirmed then," he finally says, resignation in his voice.

"What is," Castiel asks, breathless and bewildered.

"I am a Sadist," Dean answers. "And now, you are one too."

_~ tbc_

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><p>AN: It's recently been brought to my attention that my section dividers do not appear in the Mobile reader mode, which can make reading very confusing. To fix this, please read in Desktop mode and use the text sizing buttons to adjust.

I realize this is not ideal as many more people are reading on mobile devices these days, myself included, and unfortunately this is only the latest of many frustrations with this once great site. As a result, instead of reformatting and re-uploading my recent works, I will soon be removing them altogether. Specifically, this refers to my Supernatural, Teen Wolf, and Arrow fics, as these are the most affected. I will upload the last of my old anime fics here, as they were written when this site was in its heyday, but everything else is already at AO3. And as always, my entire collection can be found at LiveJournal.

[ the-diggler . livejournal . com ]

Thank you for all your support over the years, it still means a great deal to me.


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